


Intermezzo (SPQR IV)

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Paladin 'Verse [21]
Category: White Collar
Genre: BDSM, Backstory, M/M, Neal as Artist, Not Canon Compliant, OT3, SPQR 'verse, paladin 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Neal prepare to go undercover to take down Yernakov, but Neal has a minor objection and a possible solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermezzo (SPQR IV)

Neal picked up the Rubicov folder and flipped through it. Something had caught his eye earlier. “What’s with the name? Sebastian Pytor Quinell Rubicov – that’s a mouthful.”

Peter chuckled. “You like the classics. Figure it out.”

Neal looked back at the file – there was no other clue. _The classics – ahh._ “SPQR ... my hat’s off to you.” This was one of the reasons why he loved working with Peter – he was never afraid to be smart and to show it off.

Neal flipped through the file again. There was a note that caught his eye. Each of Sebastian Quinnell’s submissives had “SPQR” permanently marked on their bodies. “Is this for real? Did you really make your subs get their asses tattooed with your initials?”

“Yup.” Peter looked up, that shark’s grin playing around his lips.

“Am I...?”

“Mmm – yes.” The expression on his face, in the half-light of the dark conference room, was slightly demonic.

“You know, I really have taken great pains to avoid any permanent marking.” He could have avoided a lot of trouble in prison if he was willing to accept a gang tat.

“This operation is going to depend on our ability to keep a very deep cover. If you’re going to be squeamish about a small mark on your butt, then we may as well call it quits right now.”

Neal didn’t give in instantaneously. Even though he wanted to.

“Will the Bureau pay for the removal?”

“I don’t see why not.” Peter didn’t bother to look up from the file he was reviewing. Yernakov’s finances were obviously more important than Neal’s pristine white ass.

“You know – if so much depends on our well established backstory, how are you going to explain a newly healing tattoo? We’ve supposedly been together for years.”

That caught Peter’s attention. “Good point.”

“Maybe we can skip the tattoo altogether?” Neal tried not to sound too hopeful.

Peter glared at him. “Give me a reason why you’d be able to talk me out of tattooing your ass?”

Neal chuckled at the pun.

“With ink, that is.”

Neal reached for the laptop and just before he hit the enter key to call up search results, he had an idea – one he thought was brilliant and absolutely flawless.

“I’m Jewish.” His grin went from ear to ear.

Peter looked at him. “You’re so _not_ Jewish, Neal. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“No – I mean you want a foolproof excuse for not getting a ritual tattoo? Nick Halden’s Jewish. There’s nothing in his mythology that would confirm or deny that. I knew that being circumcised would come in handy someday.”

An expression of approval dawned on Peter’s face. “You know – this may actually work.”

Neal had a thought. “Yernakov’s not Jewish, is he?”

Peter flipped through the files “No – and none of his lieutenants are, but I’ll have Jones double check. How well versed are you in Judaism?”

“I once – allegedly, mind you – may have stolen a Torah. The scheme, again allegedly, needed some extensive knowledge of Jewish law and custom.”

Peter goggled at him, appalled. “You participated in the theft and sale of a holy item?”

“Relax – that Torah once belonged to one of the largest synagogues in Lotz.” Neal dropped all pretense of pretense. “They were removed and hidden when the Nazis invaded.” Neal’s face lost all trace of humor. “The scrolls were never reclaimed because there was no one left alive to do so.”

“And how did you get involved?”

“Remember my friend Sonia?”

Peter nodded.

“She was in the Warsaw ghetto, but had family that was in Lotz, including an uncle who was the senior Rabbi at that temple. He had been responsible for hiding it. Before the Nazis began the liquidation ...” Neal swallowed, heartache for his friend, and for all of the murdered souls stopping his words. "He had left behind a coded message - it took Sonia thirty years to find it." 

“And your role?”

“I had done a retrieval for another Survivor, and he passed along my name.”

“Retrieval?”

“Peter – please, don’t ask. I can’t play coy with this.”

He just looked at Neal – and nodded in agreement before taking out his badge – this confession – even more than the night he spent getting Neal to tell him about Adler – deserved immunity. “Go on.”

“It turned out that the Torah had been found by a Soviet officer when they ‘liberated’ the city. It passed through a number of hands and ended up with a British collector.”

“Who didn’t want to part with it.”

Neal didn’t say anything at first. “It was a difficult operation – I’m not going to give you the details, but I was able to get the Torah back to Sonia. The collector was surprised to learn that scrolls he had were modern copies.” Neal’s eyes twinkled a bit in memory of how he had played that piece of slime.

“So Sonia has the scrolls now?”

Neal looked up, startled. “No, no. They are in a repository in Israel. There are plans to return that Torah to Lotz when the synagogue is rebuilt.”

“That job wasn’t for the money, was it?”

Neal shrugged. “Sometimes I let my better nature take over.”

“Neal – the more I get to know you, the more I’m convinced that your ‘better nature’ is always in control.”

They sat there for a few minutes, the ticking from clock on the wall inexplicably loud. Maybe it was the hour.

“Okay – so Nick Halden’s Jewish, and Sebastian’s going to respect that – but he’s still going to want to mark his ownership.”

Neal reached for the laptop again, and pulled up a search. Satisfied, he turned the computer to Peter. This was a long shot at best.

“A Cartier Love Bracelet?”

“It would be perfect – you could have it engraved – and maybe the kids in Tech Lab could fit it out with a small GPS transmitter.” Neal smiled – there was no way in hell that the FBI was going to shell out ten grand for a luxe piece of designer jewelry.

Peter canted his head to the right and then the left. He zoomed in on the locking mechanism.

“This is screwed onto your wrist?”

“Yep – and they are really hard to get off. You need a special screwdriver.”

“Okay – this just may do the trick.”

Neal was shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding me – you really think the FBI’s going to fund one of these?”

“Ah – you forget. There’s a whole warehouse full of seized property – I’d lay odds that one of these very fashionable items is sitting in a vault, gathering dust.”

Neal laughed. “I’d give a lot to have the opportunity to play in that vault.”

“You want a life sentence added on to your remaining two years?”

Neal shrugged. He was joking, Peter was joking.

“So, Sebastian Pytor Quinnel Rubicov and Nicholas Halden. Halden and Rubicov.”

“Rubicov and Halden.”

“Yeah – that’s what I said.”

Peter gave Neal a sharp-eyed look.

“I’ve told you before, Neal – going this deep undercover. It’s going to be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done – no matter what you’ve done before. You mess up – there’s no cavalry coming to the rescue. It’ll mean your life and mine. And if we don’t end up dead, we’ll be seriously fucked over.”

A sigh, a grimace. “Peter – believe me, I understand all the risks. I’ve spent half my adult life in some form of deep cover. I understand what you’re saying. And just because the FBI can’t come busting down the door to rescue us doesn’t mean that we’re going to be totally without backup.”

“Don’t tell me...Moz.”

“He’s insisting.” Neal had been shocked at his friend’s demand that he be a part of this operation.

“And how is he going to manage to back you? Back us up?”

“That, he hasn’t been willing to tell me yet.”

“So – basically, he doesn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

Neal toyed with the file again. “How’s your Russian?”

“About as good as your Japanese and your French.”

“That good?”

“Yeah – us mathletes still had to fill a liberal arts quota.”

The silence between them was only broken by the ticking clock and the shuffle of papers.

“You know, Peter...”

“I know a lot of things, Neal.”

Neal sighed. “If we are truly going under without a net...”

Peter still didn’t look up. “We are, Moz notwithstanding.”

“Then you should know - this does scare the shit out of me.”

Peter finally looked at him. “Good. It should.”

“You scared?”

“Absolutely.” There was no joking in Peter’s voice – he sounded as deadly serious as Neal ever heard him.

“Now what?”

“Now – you’re ready.”

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written well before the Nazi U-boat treasure plot, which still grates on me. I still cannot accept that either Neal or Moz were willing to profit from the deaths of millions, and I'm referring to the Siege of Leningrad, not the Shoah.
> 
> /rant


End file.
